


Carol Of The Bells

by felineranger



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Christmas, Gen, IWCD verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:46:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: In Bedford Falls, it's always Christmas Eve.





	

A fire danced merrily in the hearth. Four jolly stockings hung from the mantelpiece above. A pretty black cat curled neatly in an almost perfect circle on the rug. Outside on the green, the few remaining carol singers were warbling their way through 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' with various levels of accomplishment but unquestionable enthusiasm. Lister had joined them for a little while earlier, but after the last bars of 'God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen' had died away, he'd come in from the snow seeking the warmth of fire and family. Now the smell of roasting chestnuts and sweet spiced cookies filled the small house as the four of them crowded around the ragged Christmas tree, digging through the dusty box of decorations that Kristine had brought down from their attic earlier. The boys held up creations from previous years with pride; toilet rolls and tin foil and glitter glue transformed into objects of timeless beauty as far as they were concerned. Lister agreed with them. To him, their efforts were worth more than the finest hand-blown Venetian glass ornaments money could buy. He shared a smile with Kristine as she stood on tiptoe to hang a yoghurt pot angel on a branch too high for the twins. The multi-coloured lights made it glow with heavenly triumph. Lister admired it for a moment as it twirled on the branch. From outside, the strains of a new song started to drift through the room.

_Hark! how the bells_  
_Sweet silver bells_  
_All seem to say_  
_Throw cares away_  
_Christmas is here_  
_Bringing good cheer..._

Lister stilled, hit by a sudden powerful sense of deja vu. _Christmas is here. Christmas is here_. The shabby home-made angel spun and he stared at it. How many times had he lived this moment? How many times had he watched this small trinket swaying in the lights? It felt like hundreds. But that was ridiculous. The boys were only three; this ornament couldn't be more than a year old, but it felt like it had been here for years.

_On, on they send_  
_On without end_  
_Their joyful tone_  
_To every home..._

"How long have we lived in this house?" he asked quietly.  
"Five wonderful years, dear."  
"Five years." That sounded right. Only it wasn't. It _couldn't_ be. He had stood here, in this spot, decorating this tree too many times.

"Daddy." He looked down. Bexley was tugging at his hand. His son looked up at him with a cheerful smile. "Have a drink." Lister took the proffered glass of mulled wine but didn't drink from it. "Where did you get this?" he asked, confused. The twins giggled in unison.  
"Honestly, boys," Kristine said reprovingly, "You know you're not supposed to help yourself to the drinks cabinet."  
"But Mummy, it's Christmas!"  
"Yeah, it's Christmas!"

_Christmas is here. Christmas is here._

The wine glass in Lister's hand trembled. He put it down carefully. A strange sensation was creeping over him. "What did we give the boys for Christmas last year?" he asked Kristine quietly.  
"Don't you remember? The bow and arrow for Jim and the shiny red bike for Bexley."  
"But...he's only three. He can't ride a bike."  
"Don't be silly. He loves it. He can drive the car after all. Don't you remember how happy he was when we gave it to him?"

Lister didn't remember. He didn't remember giving the twins anything, or opening any gifts, or even eating Christmas dinner. He couldn't remember _ever_ doing those things. But it must have happened. Between the last time he'd watched this angel dangling from the tree and now, things must have happened. So why couldn't he remember any of it?

He tried to think of a different memory, he tried to picture them doing something else in this room, and nothing would come. If he really concentrated, really pushed, he could see something; but it was like looking through an ancient photo album. Faded snapshots frozen in time, meaningless and out of context. Like looking at someone else's life. A life you'd never lived.

"Sweetheart," Kristine put a loving hand on his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

Lister looked around the room; the crackling fire, the cosy tattered furnishings, the snow falling outside the window. It was perfect. All of it. So perfect. But in this moment, it didn't feel real. It felt like a movie set. As if the stairs when he climbed them would lead nowhere. Like the doors would open onto brick walls. Like the whole thing was a painted stage backdrop he could reach out and tear down. He had a sudden vision of himself trapped inside a glistening Christmas bauble. Or a snow globe. Yes, a Bedford Falls snow globe...where it was always Christmas Eve.

He walked slowly to the front door and opened it. The chill winter air took his breath away in a swirling cloud to dance with the snowflakes. He breathed deeply, trying to clear his head, to shake off this strange mental vertigo. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong and it was right in front of him but he just couldn't...

"Baby," he felt the warmth of Kristine's arms wrap around him, "Come back inside. It's so cold out there."  
"Daddy, come back inside."  
"We haven't finished decorating the tree, Daddy!"

He turned and looked into his wife's dazzling blue eyes. She reached up to tenderly stroke his face. "Silly thing. You'll catch your death. What are you standing out here for?"  
"I don't know," he said honestly. Why was he out here? He couldn't recall. He had a beautiful wife and two wonderful children and a warm fire waiting for him indoors. It was silly to be standing out in the cold on Christmas Eve. "I suppose I was just listening to the music." He cast a last glance back at the carol singers as Kristine drew him back inside.

_Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas,  
Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas_

He sat down on the creaky old sofa and took a deep sip of mulled wine to warm himself up. The cat jumped onto his lap and he stroked it until it settled down, purring. "Ahh," he sighed contentedly, "This is the life."

Outside, 'The Carol Of The Bells' chanted on.

_Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas,  
Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas_

 


End file.
